I grew up basically without the steady influence of a grandparent. No whittling away on the porch sipping tart lemonade listening to the sage advice of a man with time behind him and licorice candy in his pocket.

My grandfather on my dad's side was a stone cold lush, and my memories of him were his body splayed out on the couch as me and my cousins teased the dog by hanging a G.I Joes from a hole in the floor. My dad's mother died when he was young, my mother's father was an absent parent, leaving me with my Nanny, who was a big ball of British fun, but because of the distance, was hardly involved in my life.

My sons have six grandparents. Yep. Six. As a child of divorce myself, and with both of my parents remarried, Hudson and Tasman have to use two hands to count their grandparents. And yes, they all have different names to avoid confusion. There is Nana and Grandad, my mother and stepfather. There is Papa and Oma, my dad and stepmother and there is Grampy and Grandma, my wife Steph's parents.

All three sets of grandparents live within a reasonable distance, my dad just two minutes away, so all are very active in the boys' life, which, as you can imagine is both a blessing and a curse. It's mostly a blessing as visits are easy and often, and birthdays and Christmas are quite lucrative. The downside is the allocation of time, and at least two weekends a month are eaten by some sort of grandparent responsibility.

When we were in New Zealand traveling, it was just us, and while we missed our parents fiercely, we adored the abundance of time to ourselves.

Although I bet if I posted here back then I would just complain about my kids not having the love luxury of available grandparents.

I have said it before: I am not a cat person. I am wary of anything that I perceive to be smarter than me, and that includes all members of the animal kingdom. Cats and crows are the two animals that terrify me most, with their smart, conniving I-know-more-than-you eyes. I love very many cat people, and understand that everyone has their own preference, but a cat shall never live in my household. However, this story about a death-sensing cat is oddly endearing. And seems to prove my hunch that cats are smarter than we are.

A resident nursing-home cat in England seems to possess the uncanny ability to predict impending deaths of elderly patients. In 25 out of 25 incidences in the last year, Oscar the cat has curled up next to residents of the home hours before their deaths. It's not because he's a lovey-dovey kitty, either -- Oscar tends to shy away from humans, except when they are about to die. Doctors are baffled and theories abound: perhaps the cat is attracted to elevated body temperature before death, maybe he is picking up brainwaves, perhaps he is wanting to be a source of comfort in the final days of life. Whatever the reasons, Oscar repeatedly curls up to elderly patients just hours before their death, many times before the Doctors have any idea that the patient is fading. He's so reliable that hospital staff use him as a guide to call family members of the nearly-deceased. If Oscar gives you lovin', you'll be toast in a few hours.

So it's a cute story, but I don't think I'm convinced to add a cat to our family just yet. Though it probably wouldn't poop in my neighbour's yard, I'd be kind of nervous each time it wanted to curl up next to me or Nolan.

Just the word 'exorcism' takes me back to my childhood - and not in a good way. I remember seeing the movie The Exorcist with my best friend when we were young teenagers and it gave us both nightmares for weeks. Seriously scary stuff.

Imagining the scene in a Phoenix, Arizona house where a grandfather reportedly tried to exorcise demons from his 3-year-old granddaughter gives me the chills. Police officers, responding to a report of an exorcism, arrived on the scene to the sounds of screaming coming from a bedroom. A bed had been pushed up to the bedroom door, but when officers pushed it open, they saw 49-year-old Ronald Marquez choking his bloodied granddaughter.
The girl's 19-year-old mother, bloody and naked herself, was chanting "something that was religious in nature."

The officers forced their way into the room, subdued the grandfather with two hits from a stun gun and freed the little girl. Initially, the grandfather appeared normal, but then stopped breathing. He was later pronounced dead at a hospital.

According to the police, a relative had called for help, explaining that an exorcism was taking place. "The purpose was to release demons from this very young child," said Sgt. Joel Tranter.

The little girl and her mother are recovering in a hospital and police are investigating "other possible abuses" against the child. The mom hasn't been charged with anything yet, but police are looking at criminal charges against her.

Barron Hilton, son of Conrad Hilton who founded the hotel chain of the same name, has taken his famous granddaughter out of his will, leaving her $60m poorer. Embarrassed by her outrageous behaviour, especially when her home-made sex video found its way to the internet, the senior Hilton decided her recent DUI conviction and sentence was the last straw.

According to Hilton family biographer, Jerry Oppenheimer, "He was, and is, extremely embarrassed by how the Hilton name has been sullied by Paris. He now doesn't want to leave unearned wealth to his family." Barron Hilton is a billionaire and plans to donate 2.4bn to charity after the Hilton Hotels chain is sold this month. He is the only family member who retains any significant ownership of the company that bears their name.

I am reminded of the part of the movie Parenthood where the patriarch (played by Jason Robards) talks to his son (Steve Martin) about helping out another son who has gotten in trouble for his gambling. "No matter what," he says, "he's still my son." I agree with that. And yet, if I were in the elder Hilton's place, would I want to hand over $60m to someone who would just blow it on edible underwear and gold-plated doggie bowls?

Sometimes, tough love is the best kind, and I think Hilton is doing the right thing here. There is a lot of good that can be done with that kind of money and, in the hands of the wrong person, a lot of bad. I think he chose wisely.

A while back, a close family member expressed the opinion that my husband shouldn't be down on the floor playing dolls with Ellie. She felt this was not only a waste of my husband's time, but potentially harmful for Ellie. Her reasoning had something to do with the fear that Ellie would see him more as a playmate as less as an authority figure. We chose to ignore her opinion on the matter.

According to Utah State University anthropologist David Lancy, playing with your kids is a chore that parents may as well eliminate. "In much of the psychological literature ... there is this unquestioned assertion that mothers play with their children and that is normal. If they don't, (the implication is that) there's something wrong, even going so far as to say the infant or child would be harmed," he says. He's not saying you shouldn't play with your kids, he is saying you shouldn't feel guilty if you choose not to.

This article does not explain how Lancy came to this conclusion that playing with your kids has no benefit, but I am sure there are plenty of people out there who would disagree. People like Douglas Goldsmith, executive director of The Children's Center in Salt Lake City. He worries that this message will make parents feel it is okay to only focus on the basics - feeding, transportation, etc. To him, being a parent means "exploring, enjoying, praising and supervising" your kids. Anything short of that, he says, is a job half-done.

But Lancy feels that here in the United States, we are "obsessed" with kids and that the parent-child-play movement has no value and is possibly racist! He feels that advocates trying to "export the phenomenon as a fundamental child 'right' to the rest of the world," is in reality a "desire to use play to 'civilize the irrational natives." What?

Playing with Elli does sometimes feel like a chore. But even if the benefit of playing with her is only to reassure her that I like her and enjoy being with her, it seems well worth it to me.

While we were on holiday, recently, I had a nice chat with a young fellow who was very interested in becoming a parent -- someday. Although he wasn't ready, he wanted to learn as much as he could so that when he was ready, he'd have some idea of what he was getting into. We discussed a lot of parenting-related topics during the course of our talk.

One of the subjects was single parents -- we agreed that it's amazing that people can raise a child alone, given the amount of work it takes. I said that even though there are two of us, and we have the help of Rachel's mom, our sister-in-law, and a lot of friends, it's still an incredible amount of work -- to try and do everything alone is incomprehensible. I said that you don't need a village to raise a child, but it sure makes it a whole lot easier.

That said, Rachel mentioned that she hasn't ever seen the grandparents on the show Jon & Kate Plus 8. I checked their website and their FAQ page addresses this: "Our kids DO have grandparents, but none that are involved in our daily lives." I certainly understand that families do not always remain intact, but I know that with 8 kids, not having any help from the grandparents must make an already challenging job that much harder.

Without Rachel's folks, especially her mom, I know that parenthood would be much more difficult for us. What about you? Are your parents a help or a hindrance?

The headline sounds something off the front page of the National Enquirer, but the story is true and the sentiment noble. I think. I don't know, I have a hard time wrapping my head around some of this stuff because the logistics boggle my mind.

A 59-year old Florida women has given birth to her own grandchildren after carrying the children of her seriously ill daughter Caryn. Caryn was only 25 when diagnosed with cancer two years ago and underwent a hysterectomy and radiation after a doctor had harvested her eggs. She and her husband were talking about family plans and possibilities when Caryn's Mother offered to carry their child. A fit, healthy woman, she was implanted with her daughter's eggs fertilized with Ayal's sperm -- and carried twins to thirty four weeks.

The twins are healthy, and the family says they made their story public to promote Gardasil, the Cervical Cancer Vaccine.

This week, my husband and I will pack up the kids and drive over ten hours to begin our vacation. After spending a few days with the in-laws, we will be packing up and getting on an airplane for some mommy and daddy alone time.

While we've been busy buying snacks for that really long car trip, I've also been getting our papers together. Since we will spend several days without our kids and ahem, our wills are basically non-existent, I had to act fast.

I looked up the will laws for my state online and I could have a written will, as long as it was signed by two adults in my presence. After hashing out details of who would become the guardian, establishing trust funds from life insurance policies and who should reside over our estate in the case of our deaths, we still had a lot left to do.

In another envelope, I included the details needed in case something did happen to us. I specified some of the wishes in regards to money, our kids' education as well as pertinent info regarding disposal of the bodies (cremation, with ashes scattered). It also included some of that information a potential caregiver would need to know, such as location of all our documents and names and numbers of all the doctors who care for my children.

In a third envelope, we have the information for short-term care of the kids. One includes a list of the things one needs to know to care for two toddlers (one pretty much refuses to eat meat while the other will eat most anything except tomatoes) and tips and tricks for getting through the day in one piece (warn the girl before flushing public toilets). In addition, I included another piece of paper with a "waiver" saying I allowed my in-laws to seek any medical attention for my kids. At the bottom of that paper, I decided to add a bit of information. Thinking on my father-in-law trying to fill the paper out while my mother-in-law helped the child, I added in information such as drug allergies (none) and the kids' dates of birth and current weights.

While I hope none of these papers will need to ever be used, I feel a lot safer leaving my kids knowing that many of the loose ends are tied up.

The windows are open on either side of our new home, and even though a breeze trickles through, it's hot. My hair is curling wet on my neck and my feet feel puffy. My Dad's perched up on a step ladder, his neck craned toward the ceiling, fiddling with some precarious wires. They could be live, who knows.

"The wiring is messed up in here,"he grumbles, stepping off the ladder to rummage for another a light bulb, a wire, a screw. All these small tasks, they're never as simple as you think they'll be." I glance at him. He looks tired, lined, frustrated.

"Dad, don't worry about the fixture," I say,"I have a desk lamp, anyway, and it's light out till ten. Don't worry about it."

"Well, if I don't do it,"he replied,"Who will?"

He doesn't mean to hurt me, but the words sting and I feel a rush of inadequacy. I don't have a man in my life and I don't know how to do any of the "man things." I have not been single since I was seventeen, and though I've cooked and cleaned and laundered to high heaven, I have never changed a light fixture. I have never mowed the lawn, used a drill, expertly snapped a measuring tape and drawn blue arrows and boxes on a sketch pad.

I never realized I didn't know any of these things, and how reliant I've been on my partners to fix my space. Rather than learn, I delegated: in exchange for homemade pizza, a back rub, a night out with the boys. Those things are kind of useless now, so I'd better get on that fixture-switching course (Which: how do you find a course called Simple Household Tasks for the Previously Dependent and Shockingly Inept?) Since Nolan has a few more years before he'll be able to help me out, I guess I'd better get on it fairly quickly.

When you are ready to announce your pregnancy with family members there are lots of creative ways share the good news. You could:

• Take both sets of parents out to dinner and spill it over a fancy meal
• Serve a baby themed meal (applesauce, oatmeal, teething biscuits) in tiny bowls and see if they figure it out before accusing you of having lost your mind
• Wrap up a baby item for the future grandparents to open
• Hand out copies of the ultrasound picture
• Send out "Save the Date" cards with your due date and tell people when they ask what's the big deal about that date

Or, if your family has a good sense of humor (and healthy hearts!) you could borrow an idea from Nicole, founder of The Soccer Mom Vote and author of Sitting Still. She took a picture of family members a split second after hearing her say, "Hey! We're pregnant!" The look of amazement on her mom's face along with the accusatory/teasing pointing of her mother-in-law makes this shot a priceless addition to the upcoming baby's photo album.

I can't remember how I told people I was pregnant, which is kind of sad because for a while it seemed to be an annual event. However, I do recall sharing pregnancy #3 with my husband by having a hormonal crying fit and apologizing for messing up our finances while he was paying bills. (Nicole's approach would have been better.)

Where you creative when spilling the beans about your baby?

Congratulations to Nicole and her entire family!

Yesterday evening, after seemingly endless miles of beautiful Pennsylvania scenery, we hit our beloved Brooklyn, NYC. We completed our first road trip as a family. Of course, first we hit major traffic going over the George Washington Bridge, and before that got turned around on the infamous New Jersey Turnpike, and before that were stuck in more "be prepared to stop" traffic on the I-80, but we still made it back to our home in broad daylight.

Sure, it was at least an hour later than we'd hoped--not intended, as we adopted the "we'll get there when we get there" mentality that comes with having a baby, rather than plotting out our course with an actual schedule--but we made it, all in one piece. And somehow we made it back with more than what we left with, which seemed impossible to me since we were packed to the gills on the way out.

I'm usually of the ilk that brings little with them on trips and takes back even less. Sure there are a few small token souvenir type things picked up along the way, and perhaps a T-shirt (or, in this case, a onesie for the baby) that can easily be folded into the carry-on luggage, but rarely do I return to the Big Apple with more than what my suitcase can comfortably hold.

[Have baby: Will travel chronicles one new family's roadtrip adventure from New York to the South...and back.]

Wow. I've been without consistent (or any) Internet access since I last wrote, and all I can say is: wow. I never realized how dependent my life (and to some extent my livelihood) had become on the worldwide web. At first it felt like I'd lost something very, very important to me, but, now that I have it back, it feels rather refreshing to have gone without it.

So what have I been up to the last few days? A lot, as you might imagine. The experiment--er, trip--is turning out much better than I expected. You know, I always considered myself to be a "glass half full" kind of girl, but considering how negatively I felt about what could and should happen on this trip, our first trip with the baby, our first trip driving through different states, our first trip with the dog--our first trip as parents, adults--it would seem that I am actually more of the "glass half empty" mind.

Maybe feeling negatively about things makes it a lot easier to avoid disappointment. I had few expectations and, as a result, all of them were met; those I didn't even know about have been surpassed.

Take my trip to visit my in-laws, for example. I've been there before, done the mini-road trip from Louisville to Delphi, Indiana before. It's always been relaxing but I never thought I'd have as much fun as I did. They live on seven acres of fabulous land, complete with woods, a route to the Tippecanoe River, and a garden chock full of vegetables we ate for dinner every night.

On Nolan's favourite playground in the seaside village near our homes, I hear accents mingled together: Australian, Vietnamese, Phillipino, harmonized into a new language. The women are well groomed: young, smiling women in crinkled shorts and baseball hats. Nannies. Their charges are curly-haired cherubs in shirts with alligators and expensive shoes, and Nolan plays alongside them with his unintentional mullet and Old Navy and the kids don't notice a thing.

My employer is really flexible with my hours, which I am entirely grateful for. Nolan is at a dayhome only two or three days a week, and with my Mom at other times. He likes his day home and the kids there, but sometimes I think I would like to have a nanny who has her full attention on him, who brings him to outings in the park and makes pizza with him. I don't explore this option too hard because:
a) Most nannies here are live in and my house could not accomodate.
b) Have you seen the price of a nanny?

Although I know several of my acquaintances with kids would poo-poo the idea of a nanny (most notably for women who use nannies while they get their nails done and attend charity lunches), I think most of them hanker after the idea in a "I wish I were eating raspberry cheesecake right now" kind of wistful way.

If you could afford it, would you hire a Nanny (or a manny!) for your kids?

According to research in the UK, two out of three families in which both parents work rely on grandparents to care for the kids. This free grandparent care saves those parents an average of £2,685 per year in childcare expenses. What's more, many of these families say they couldn't afford to pay the mortgage without the free childcare.

When Christy was growing up, I had no choice but to get a job. In the beginning, my mother cared for her while I worked. Later, when my mom started working herself, I had to put Christy in daycare. Not only was I now relying on strangers to care for Christy, I had to shell out big bucks for the privilege. I truly felt like I was working to pay day care so I could work to pay day care.

While Christy's daycare experiences varied from great to horrible, I always longed for the days she spent with grandma. Besides the money I would save, I knew my mom would care for her like she was her own. Plus, I didn't have to worry about calling in sick at work when Christy was ill and nobody got mad if I was running a little late picking her up.

Having experienced both child care alternatives, I definitely preferred the grandma arrangement. What about you? Who cares for your kids while your work?

I hate to admit this but this trip has made me so tired that last night I went to bed before my grandparents. They're both 77 years old. When I went to sleep it was still light outside. I've never before experienced anything quite like it, and I feel like a dweeb. A somewhat well-rested dweeb, yes, but a dweeb nonetheless.

On the plus side I woke up before them and before the baby. Miraculously I managed to wake up, pump and get this (hopefully) written before my son awakens for his early bird AM feeding. I can't seem to get online consistently, again, but am confident I will be able to post this at some point today. Who knew getting on the web would be so difficult when traveling? Here I thought it was merely as simple as turning on my computer.

In other news it turns out I am almost out of prenatal vitamins. Again. Again? Asked my husband--yes. I take one a day the whole time I am breastfeeding, so I go through them pretty quickly. I am so used to taking them that I basically forgot about them until I had to pack them and realized I had less than a week's supply. Just one more thing I didn't think about in advance (enough or at all).